


Datebook

by joanlocked



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanlocked/pseuds/joanlocked
Summary: It's day five and Elio is only a kid.That's what Oliver keeps telling himself the few times he crosses path with professor Perlman's son.They barely talk anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem, Oliver thinks.**A collection of Elio and Oliver's most meaningful moments from Summer 1983, sorted by date.





	Datebook

**Author's Note:**

> Still sadly unbetad, any potential crime against the English language is attributable to me only!

It's day one and Oliver has just stepped into which is going to be his accommodation for the summer. The Perlmans' villa looks impressive from the outside but the interior manages to exceed expectations; it's huge, fresh, tastefully furnished, smelling of clean and opportunities, and Oliver feels home immediately.

He replies politely to the small talk from his hosts, but his mind is wandering to his new room and, to an even higher degree, his bed. The flight has been long and exhausting and as much as he'd rather start to get to know them better right away and explore the place he's going to live in for a while, his body refuses to cooperate. He's very grateful when Mrs Perlman seems to pick up on that and calls for someone to help him move his suitcases.

Someone enters the room shortly after, a boy, who's introduced to him as Elio, their only son. They shake hands.

Oliver is attracted without delay.

 

* * *

 

It's day twenty-four and Oliver is out with Elio and his friends for the evening.

They're hanging at the local _gelateria_ doing nothing but joking around and only worrying about their quickly melting ice cream ending up on the ground.

Everyone is laughing soundly to some joke someone's made, and Elio finds it so funny he's bending over and holding his belly as if it physically hurts to be laughing that hard. It was some dumb joke, really, but it's tough for Oliver to stop cackling when he sees Elio that amused.

Laughter eventually starts to fade away and Oliver muffles a last soft chuckle into his palm before wiping away a tear. He watches as Elio does the same, still unable to stop smiling.

A relaxed silence wraps around the group as everyone calms down. Most return to their ice cream, some look around, check their watch, a few quietly start chatting again.

Oliver is still staring at Elio's smile when he looks up and their eyes meet.

It only takes one look to burst out laughing again together.

 

* * *

 

It's day thirty-eight and Oliver is drunk.

He is out for the night with Elio, Marzia and another couple of friends for what was supposed to be a calm evening at Le Danzing which turns up being exponentially less calm every passing drink he and everyone else are handed by Marzia, whose adamant policy for the night seems to be keeping the liquor coming.

Elio is on the dance floor seemingly having the time of his life. He looks beautiful and pleasantly inebriated and definitely not mindful of his overly effusive manners as a result.

“Stop, Elio”, says Oliver under his breath when Elio approaches him and reaches for him yet again. He might be drunk but he surely can hold his liquor way better than Elio does if the way he's behaving is anything to go by. There is no way people wouldn't notice the lustful looks Elio is showering him with if they cared to look twice, nor the intimate feather touches and muttered words he's reserving for him only.

Oliver sure notices.

“Nobody is paying attention,” drawls Elio. He talks like moving his tongue in his mouth is a strenuous act he can't put up with at the moment. He keeps his eyes half closed and goes find Oliver's ear with his mouth. “Nobody could know I'm telling you how much I want to get on my knees and suck you off right now.”

Oliver is drunk. Now he's hard, too.

Fact is Elio can be so effortlessly seductive. He knows from the start, from the moment he brushes his skin with the pretext of fumbling with his star of David necklace, only to find confirmation the moment he puts it in his mouth when they sleep together for the first time. When he raises to his knees and begs Oliver to grasp at his throat while he fucks him from behind. Or when he suggests picnicking by the berm with the vow not to touch each other, the better to enjoy lying in bed together the same afternoon.

Elio has never done any of that to arouse him, he just did what came natural to him, he just unashamedly made what he wanted very clear. If that aroused Oliver in the process, then so much better.

And now Oliver is definitely aroused.

“Elio,” he hisses, looking around to make sure no one is paying them any attention while instinctively grabbing at his crotch, begging his body not to betray him.

Looks like Marzia is the only one scrutinizing them, a strained smile on her lips. Oliver doesn't even mind, he's incline to think she knows already. He finds confirmation to his doubts when she shoots him a meaningful look over the colorful straw she's chewing at and then points at the exit with a head gesture.

He can just hope people will interpret that as Oliver feeling responsible for his hosts' son well-being and not as the obvious pretext to get some needed time alone that it is.

Oliver grabs Elio by an arm and drags him away while he giggles contentedly.

 

* * *

 

It's day forty and Oliver has to lie to Mrs Perlman.

He wouldn't have had to if she hadn't knocked at his door, hadn't asked where Elio is.

“I don't know,” is his immediate reply. His heart starts pounding in his chest, despite being positive she'd never cross the door without an open invitation.

“Sorry if I, uh, don't come by the door but I'm not presentable at the moment.” That isn't a lie. “I was just about to grab a shower.”

“Don't worry about that, tesoro. It's just that... I haven't seen him leaving the house, yet I can't find him anywhere.” She sounds worried and Oliver feels sick to his stomach over having to lie to her like that.

“He's asleep,” That isn't a lie either.

He looks down and runs his hand gently through curls of dark hair. He can hardly tell Mrs Perlman her son has just been fucked good and is now sleeping soundly on his chest.

“I thought you said you don't know where he is?” she asks, sounding rightfully puzzled.

“I don't. I just remembered he mentioned he felt like taking a nap on the beach after lunch. He must be there now,” Oliver's voice must've come out higher than he meant this time, cause he feels Elio tightening his hold around him and the unevenness of his breathing.

“Don't talk,” he whispers to him, although he's sure Elio already knows what's going on. He doesn't move, he just nods and lazily starts drawing invisible circles on Oliver's naked chest with his fingertips.

“Oh, sure. I guess I was distracted. Overprotective mother jumped out,” she giggles and Oliver imagines how silly she's feeling now and that makes him feel worse. He hears the sound of her steps fade and Elio grabs at his chin, silently requiring to be looked at.

“I'm sorry,” Elio whispers, and with nothing left to say, Oliver's kissed.

 

* * *

 

It's day five and Elio is only a kid.

That's what Oliver keeps telling himself the few times he crosses path with professor Perlman's son.

They barely talk anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem, Oliver thinks. Seems to him like Elio suddenly remembers some time sensitive task every time Oliver steps in the same room he's occupying, he can feel his sideways looks whenever he is around, and he even takes no time in flinching away as soon as he tentatively touches and squeezes his shoulder during a tennis game.

Oliver knows he has to keep his distance.

 

* * *

 

 

It's day twenty-nine and Oliver now knows for sure his feelings for Elio are reciprocated.  
  
At least that's what he reads between the lines when Elio talks to him about things that matter. He's been equally dreading and anticipating Elio's decision to address his feelings for him for a long time, since he's seen right through him and his game; Oliver always trusts his gut feeling and it's telling him that Elio's adamant silence and his apparent desire to avoid him at all costs are merely a mean to an end.  
  
Holding back is achievable right until the moment Oliver can pretend his longing is one-sided, although not that much any longer when Elio bluntly tells him that no, as a matter of fact that isn't the case at all, accompanied by a flirtatious swing of his hips and even more mischievous little smirk.  
  
He hates Elio for forcing him to face reality, for letting him know that that thing he so badly desires will be gladly handed to him if only he dares to ask.  
  
He manages to reject him at first but not half an hour passes that he's kissing him on the mouth and taking in the smell of grass and his heated skin from far closer he's ever allowed himself to even just think about.  
  
He pushes Elio away by sheer strength of will. He forces a relaxed smile on his face so he can pretend to be having the upper hand. Elio kisses him again and he pushes him away again.  
  
Elio grabs at his crotch and he pushes him away.  
  
Oliver realizes in that very moment that, no matter how hard he tries, there is no way to fight it.

 

* * *

 

It's day thirty-seven and Oliver doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

He knows his legs will soon not be able to support both of them anymore, Elio is tiny but the pressure is too much, his slender legs are wrapped around Oliver's waist as he's kneeling with Elio on top of him. Elio's thighs must be sore too judging from the eager way he's riding him but he is too lost in his pleasure, too inebriated with lust to care; they've reached the point where he just moans and sobs incoherently, at least for the bits Oliver can pick up on.

“Di più,” Elio groans over and over again. “Di più, Oliver.”

Oliver has been teasing him about his incapacity to speak anything but Italian during sex since their very first time, and he will again when they're done, but he finds nothing funny about it now. Elio always blushes and justifies himself saying his brain just stops working when he fucks, instinct takes over reason, the animal takes over the rational being, his mind simply draws a blank and only offers him the use of his mother tongue.

Oliver finds that so sexy it hurts.

_More_ , that's what Elio is asking from him, more, and Oliver knows he won't be able to give that to him if they don't switch position. He none too gently lies Elio down and falls on top of him, and Elio loses no time in spreading his legs, silently begging Oliver to go back to the place he has momentarily abandoned.

Oliver grabs at his knees and obliges, causing Elio to resume his litany of pleas.

“Sì, sì, oh,” Elio pants hotly with his eyes closed. “Non fermarti.”

_Don't stop_. But Oliver can't this time, it's all too hot, too intense, he needs to still his hips and find Elio's mouth, needs to work his way into it with his tongue, needs to release his frantic breath against Elio's wet lips, needs to hold him in his arms while he catches his breath. He moves one of his hands from Elio's knee to his face and holds him there as they kiss and Elio doesn't complain, doesn't try to move, doesn't try to resume Oliver's thrusts despite his recent demands.

But when Elio squeezes him hard from the inside, all Oliver can do is moan and start moving in and out again, quickly finding his pace again, and Elio is wrapping his arms around him and pulling Oliver to him like they're not close enough, and he's asking for more again – _di più_ he all but screams, _di più, ancora, Oliver_ – but Oliver is already giving him everything he got, he's already as deep inside his body as he can reach, but he nips at his lips and tries to give it to him, whatever that _more_ is.

“Se ti fermi mi uccidi,” Elio says, softer this time, and Oliver's Italian skills can only go so far, he doesn't know what that means, but he sure can read into the tone of it.

Oliver hopes he never comes.

 

* * *

 

 It's day ten and Oliver and Elio are on the orle of paradise.

Oliver is lying by the edge of the pool running a hand through the fresh water while Elio sits next to him, leaning back on his hands and savoring the warm sun on his face.

“I'd kill for a glass of apricot juice right now,” Elio says out of the blue after a long moment of silence.

Oliver turns to him. “You could just go inside and get it, no need to murder anyone.”

Elio laughs softly. “Nah. Don't feel like it.”

“Do you want me to go?” Elio shoots him a look like he's surprised he offered.

“Oh, no, don't bother,” Oliver notices he looks flushed. “Thanks.”

“It's no bother at all,” insists Oliver. He sits up to stand but Elio holds him back by pushing on his chest.

“I don't...” Elio whispers. “Just... stay.” His open palm is still on Oliver's chest, burning a hole into his skin.

Oliver holds his gaze and is about to insist but decides against it and lays down again, more to disengage from Elio's touch than anything. He doesn't trust the way that boy makes him feel.

They're both silent again for a short while. Oliver is on the verge of sleep when Elio speaks again.

“I don't want to waste a moment like this,” he explains.

Oliver brings an arm up to his head so he can protect his eyes from direct sunlight. “What do you mean?”

Elio doesn't reply right away and Oliver assumes he's avoiding a straight answer.

“Everything here is just so frantic. My friends always want to go swimming or ride to town and go out every night. They don't want to waste a single moment out of their vacations. I kind of understand,” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just don't share the sentiment.”

Oliver waits for him to go on but Elio just leans back on his hands and turns his head to the sun again, eyes closed. He's smiling.

“This is heaven,” he sighs eventually. “You're the only one willing to share that with me.”

Silence again.

Oliver has to roll into the water so he doesn't grab at his sun-drenched face and kisses him.

 

* * *

 

 

It's day forty-five and soon Oliver will be forced to let him go.

He tries not to think about it. It's no use. He turns and turns in his hotel bed in Rome and when he opens his eyes he sees Elio, sleeping next to him. When he closes his eyes, nothing changes. He doesn't think about what happens next, he doesn't spare a single thought to going back home, seeing his friends again, his family, the courses he needs to teach.

There's no tomorrow to be worrying about. That's a problem another Oliver will have to deal with. The Oliver who's there now, in Italy, lying beside the love of his life, that Oliver's only worry in the world is what he has to leave behind.

Like a black hole will swallow him as soon as he says his goodbyes, and then, nothing but void.

He turns to Elio and lets his gaze slide on every detail of his face, his long lashes, his parted plump lips, the dusting of light freckles on his nose; he's letting that all in, studying it, memorizing it for future reference. His fingers gently follow his gaze as a remembrance of their first kiss.

Oliver starts stroking Elio's back and sloppily kissing his cheek. When Elio opens his eyes, fogged with sleep at first, he can tell the exact moment the awareness of what's going to happen later in the day reaches him.

He knows he can't kiss the sorrow away but he can sure try.

Oliver makes love to him for the last time.

 

* * *

 

 

It's day thirty-four and Oliver has Elio pinned to the wall.  
  
Elio is kissing him back with such teenage enthusiasm Oliver finds it tough not to start undressing him now and there, but luckily part of his brain remembers that, despite it being pitch dark, they're still right outside the villa.  
  
Oliver grabs at one of Elio's wrists and pins it to the wall over his head, then he does the same with the other one, never breaking their eye contact.  
  
Elio tries to resume the kiss but Oliver tightens the hold on his arms and keeps him in place with the help of his hips. A bad move, but he manages to hide how crazy with want that's making him.  
  
“Let's go upstairs,” Elio suggests, panting hard.  
  
“Oh, yeah?” Oliver mutters, wasting no time in attacking Elio's neck with violent kisses. “To do what?”  
  
Elio moans dangerously loud. Oliver shushes him with a deep kiss on the mouth. “Take me upstairs and I'll show you.”  
  
“I don't know,” says Oliver seductively. “I'm having so much fun torturing you lik-”  
  
He stops talking when he crosses Elio's terrified eyes. He doesn't have the time to ask what it is before Elio cries out “Oh shit, it's Mafalda!”  
  
Oliver lets him go immediately and springs away from him as fast as he can manage, furiously rubbing at his face and hair like it could hide all evidence.  
  
When he turns around, nobody is there.  
  
It sinks in before he even turns towards Elio again.  
  
When he does, Elio is a giggling mess by the entrance door. “Goose!” he shouts right before sprinting inside, only slowing down for a moment to check over his shoulder if Oliver was following him.  
  
Oliver laughs, shakes his head in defeat and follows inside.  
  
As soon as he steps into his room, their room, Elio squeezes his shoulders and effortlessly wraps his legs around his waist. “You should know I always get what I want,” he states between heated kisses.  
  
Yes, Oliver should know.

 

* * *

 

It's day fifteen and Oliver and the Perlmans are eating breakfast together.

Or, more correctly, the Perlmans are eating while Oliver talks and talks and talks about his manuscript and the difficulties he's encountering in the process of writing it, complications he's never had to deal with in the past and that are now truly compromising his work.

“I hate the thought of wasting your time, Mr Perlman, is all,” he repeats for what seems to be the hundredth time that morning.

Mr Perlman isn't even answering anymore; he has just told him more than once that he's the most brilliant guest they've had in a while and it's only natural for the mind to wander when the body spending a summer in Italy surrounded by entertaining activities and beautiful girls. Oliver has to laugh at that.

When his negativity peak finally mitigates Oliver can go back to his food. He hasn't touched anything yet and he's starving.

He reaches for sugar but Elio stops him by grabbing at his wrist. Oliver wonders if he'll ever stop feeling electricity everytime they touch.

“Don't. I've already set it all up,” Elio says nonchalantly.

Oliver looks at him with a puzzled look.

“Your coffee,” he explains when he sees Oliver's arched brow. “No cream, two sugars,” he grabs at the kettle Mafalda has just placed on the table and fills Oliver's large cup to the rim with hot water. “Americano,” he adds wrinkling his lips like he's disgusted by the mere thought of it. “It sucks, by the way. Way to ruin a perfectly fine espresso. Why don't you just drink it the right way once or twice? You're in Italy, for god's sake.” he concludes going back to his cereals.

Oliver just looks at him, speechless. He then looks around his side of the table and sees two soft-boiled eggs already cut and ready to be eaten, plus a slightly overcooked pancake with little butter but a generous amount of blackberry jelly on top of it.

Elio has clearly been paying attention to his breakfast habits in the last days.

“You... arranged my breakfast for me?” Oliver asks, dumbfounded. Elio just shrugs.

Oliver knows that he is unavoidably in love with him.

 

* * *

 

It's day one hundred sixty-nine and, as promised, Oliver is back in B. for Christmas.  
  
Trying to stay away from Elio as much as he can requires all of his strength and more, but he's well aware of the bomb he will need to drop before he leaves for the States again, and if Elio hates him by then, well, that would only be for the best.  
  
He cannot save himself the pain, but he has to try and do that for Elio.  
  
Oliver avoids him for the best part of his first days in Italy. He tries to keep himself busy with bike rides to town and long runs in the early mornings, with Vimini, and, for the most part, the Perlmans.  
  
He would say he's happy. He's missed them dearly and stealing a few days with them in the italian countryside is a soothing balm for his soul.  
  
The cold and rain remind him it's not summer anymore.  
  
Oliver tells the news to the Perlmans and, after a few long moments by Elio's doorstep, he knocks.  
  
“Want to talk?” he asks before he can change his mind. Elio is already in bed and he looks rightfully surprised to see him in his room.  
  
Oliver doesn't wait for a reply and sits on the edge of the bed. “I might be getting married this spring,” he spits out trying his best to hold Elio's gaze, cause he deserves that much.  
  
Elio's eyes look blank. “But you never said anything.”  
  
“Well, it's been on and off for more than two years.” He hopes with all he got that Elio won't ask him why he never mentioned that. It just wasn't worth mentioning because it wasn't important. It _isn't_ important but Elio doesn't need to know that.  
  
“I think it's wonderful news.”  
  
Oliver wishes he could rip his heart off his chest so that he could stop feeling. Every thing. It's too much, he can't do it anymore. Regret, pain, concern, doubt. Relief. Relief because Elio is not yelling, he's not crying, he's letting him off the hook despite Oliver's complete incapacity to deliver any well-deserved explanation.  
  
Why can't Elio just act his age and hate him?  
  
“Do you mind?” Oliver asks after a few seconds.  
  
Elio represses a laugh. “You're being silly.”  
  
He is right, Oliver thinks. That was a silly question.  
  
“Will you be getting in bed now?” Elio asks immediately after, brushing aside the subject as if that's been already discussed at length and archived.  
  
Oliver looks at him with sad eyes.  
  
“For a short while,” he replies cautiously. “But I don't want to do anything.”  
  
His longing to stay as close to him as physically possible and his determination to keep his distance are colliding, and he comes to the conclusion that lying next to Elio on top of the blanket and with his sweater still on might be the perfect compromise.  
  
He turns to Elio and finds him already looking at him. “How long do you think this will go on?” he asks wryly.  
  
“Not long, I hope.”  
  
Oliver doesn't decide to kiss him. It happens cause it's unavoidable and he can't not to.  
  
Elio tries to get out of the blanket to take things further and Oliver immediately pulls back with a start. The curse of their every first kiss, apparently. “I can't do this.”  
  
“I can.” Elio's ineffable logic.  
  
“Yes, but I can't.”  
  
Elio looks furious and Oliver knows there's no use in hiding the truth from him now that he's already given up and kissed him.  
  
“I'd love nothing better than to take your clothes off and at the very least hold you,” he confesses. He takes Elio's face in his hands. “But I can't.”  
  
Elio doesn't hold his gaze and doesn't try to move away. Then he finally looks at him in the eye again. “I want one more kiss.”  
  
There he is, back at it with his wishes and his demands that he doesn't know how to filter.  
  
“Elio.” Oliver mutters gingerly, but he doesn't pull away.  
  
“You're getting married and I'll probably never see you again. What's another kiss going to change? I _want_ one more kiss.” He repeats with a broken voice, emphasizing the term want. Like what he means is I _deserve_ that, I _earned_ that.  
  
Something is stuck in Oliver's throat and is fighting to be let out, he's dying to speak, but, yet again, he can't.  
  
Oliver chokes it back and kisses him for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to use the exact same dialogue for the last part, so I had to pick up the book again and study carefully that cursed couple of pages against my will. Useless to say I cried my eyes out lol
> 
> Only your comments will rise my spirit! I'd go crazy with joy if you felt like sharing your impressions with me! 
> 
> I hinted at my other work for this fandom in this story - [A Vow Not To Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103573) describes their picnic by the berm at length so I guess it could be seen as a spinoff of sorts. Please consider reading that one too if you have a few minutes to spare! :)


End file.
